


The shrieking of nothing is killing

by MildredMost



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Horror, Imprisonment, Isolation, Loneliness, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mindfuck, Sibling Incest, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-13 09:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20580095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MildredMost/pseuds/MildredMost
Summary: Evan Lukas struggles to stay sane in his isolation at the Lukas family estate. His only hope of escape is his older brother, Peter.“You crave people,” Peter said, looking into his eyes. “You want to be around them. You want to be touched. It’s not at all right.”“Y-you…” Evan managed. “You touch me.” Peter’s hands were moving now, rough fingers on the warm skin of his back and it was so distracting Evan could hardly speak.“But my dear boy, that’s different. You’re my brother,” Peter said dismissively, tightening his hands. “And you belong to me. You belong here, with us.”





	The shrieking of nothing is killing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anysin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/gifts).

Evan woke in darkness with his usual feeling of dread.

He put on his bedside lamp and checked the time. Seven o’clock. But was that night or morning? He pushed down his rising panic. _He would be able to tell by looking outside._ It was still the time of year that he’d know by the light.

His panic subdued, he began his morning routine.

First he wound the clock, cautious not to do it too tightly, his fingers trembling a little as he did. It always gave him a spike of fear to wind the clock in case anything went wrong. If the clock stopped he might become untethered altogether.

But it continued to tick in a comforting way and Evan set it back down again gently. Then he opened the curtains onto the view of the empty gardens below. It was most definitely morning. 

His gaze was caught by the way the trees were bending in the wind. He watched them dance a while against the empty sky.

The clock struck nine and Evan jumped. Almost two hours had slipped through his fingers - he had to stop letting that happen.

He dressed quickly, careful to choose different clothes from the day before. He’d write it in his diary later - what time he’d woken, what he’d worn, what he’d eaten. Another way of tying himself to reality. He left the bed unmade, if only because it reassured him when he came back to his room and someone had made it.

He closed the door to his bedroom behind him with a loud slam, and headed for the breakfast room. Evan liked to shatter the awful, suffocating silence in any way he could. He’d slam doors, clatter plates and cutlery, drag a hand across the keys of the piano in the music room.

But it was so quiet. And even worse now Peter was gone. 

It had been six months since he’d seen his older brother. Peter disappeared for such long stretches, spending months and sometimes years on the sea. The thought of being on an ocean with no sight of land made Evan shiver in horror. And that of course was everything that was wrong with him.

Evan had always loved to chat, and found talking to people easy. As a child he hadn’t understood why he was constantly punished for talking to their cook or the maids or the handyman. Often they seemed such lonely people, but once he began to talk to them they’d smile and relax and open up. It hadn’t ever felt like he was doing something so awful. But people came to work for the Lukas’s for a reason, he was told. And that didn’t include making friends.

As he got older his father’s attempts to teach him how to behave had grown more severe. The Lukas family’s time was coming, and Evan had to be ready. Coming for what, Evan would ask. _You aren’t ready_ was all he was ever told. But even without being told, Evan knew he was a disappointment, and that his pathetic need for other people was a weakness he needed to shake. So when his father tortured him with isolation, he tried with all his heart to endure it.

This time it had been six weeks. He hadn’t seen another person in _six weeks_. Not from the window, not in the house. The servants were discreet to the point that they’d become invisible. He’d heard his father’s tread on the stairs once or twice and rushed to glimpse him, but his father of course wouldn’t be caught out that easily. He tried to take people by surprise - sneaking into the kitchens, lurking in the dining room long after someone should have come to clear his meal away. But Moorland House was so big. He'd seen nothing but the odd door swinging shut, sometimes a distant laugh in a hallway.

He felt as though he was going mad.

It was because he’d asked for a dog, this time. When he turned eighteen he’d asked to go to university. That hope dashed, he’d asked if he could leave the house once a week and go to the village. Having given up on being allowed to do that, he thought that he might be given a pet. A dog couldn’t talk, after all. It wouldn’t encourage his “distasteful tendencies”. But his father had looked at him with confused disgust when he’d asked, and sent him away.

Evan sat at the empty dining table laid out for breakfast and imagined holding a warm, wriggling puppy. It would sit at his feet here and he’d feed him scraps of toast or bacon, and lick his fingers. _It was so long since he’d been touched by another living creature at all._

He looked at the breakfast which had been laid out, all the food utterly unappetising to him. He noticed the stopped clock on the mantle, the candles next to it half burned down. When? By whom? His family had only ever used this room in daylight.

He poured some tea and took a slice of toast. Still warm, though he was eating much later than usual. Had someone known? Did someone wait outside his room to hear his movements? He laid the toast down again after only a couple of bites. Then he leant both his elbows on the table just to annoy anyone watching. He’d thought that if anything would bring his father out of hiding, it would be bad table manners. But even determinedly using all the wrong cutlery at dinner and eating off his knife the night before hadn’t provoked a response.

Shoving his chair back, he left the room.

The rest of the day stretched out in front of him, hundreds of minutes to be filled. He studied for a while. His cousin Conrad had left piles of science books in the library and Evan had worked his way through most of them. He’d tried to walk outside, but the fog descended and that was worse than the oppressive emptiness of the house. He ate, or tried to, whenever a meal was laid out for him. _Someone cut these vegetables,_ he told himself at dinner as he forced the food down. _Someone polished this cutlery and someone pressed this napkin and someone laid it all out for you. Someone is here. You are not alone. _

After dinner he went back to the library and switched on the television Conrad had brought home once, years before.

It was a curiosity. However much Evan fiddled with it, it only showed a recording of one thing - a man in a space capsule, looking out into darkness. Sometimes the man ate, and sometimes he read or watched films. But mostly he sat silently, staring into nothing. One of Conrad’s strange little jokes he supposed. Nothing bad ever happened to the man; Evan had watched it for hours before and he knew that. But nothing good ever happened either.

Just now the man was sleeping, strapped into his bed. Evan watched his handsome, gaunt face for a while, and idly wondered for the hundredth time what his body was like under his clothes. Was he skinny or muscular? How big was he? Evan had never seen him touch himself, though Evan had touched himself to thoughts of the lonely spaceman. Lately he’d even lost any desire to do that. What was the point when it only made his whole body burn to be with someone else? The last time another person had touched him was when Peter had left for sea - he’d passed his hand over Evan’s hair, then clapped him firmly on the shoulder. Evan wrapped his arms around himself, the longing to be held a physical ache.

What had Peter and Conrad done, he wondered, growing up here and with these urges? Or maybe they just didn’t have them. No, that wasn’t true, thought Evan. Peter had them. A couple of things he’d said and done on his last visit had made Evan realise that. Uncomfortable looks and remarks that Evan in his desperate loneliness had spent far too long thinking about afterwards.

The evening darkened, and Evan found himself too lazy to get up from the chair he was slumped in to turn on a light. He watched as the spaceman slept on, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. He dozed.

He woke with a start in utter darkness to find the screen still on.

The spaceman was awake, staring straight at Evan. “_Please, help me_,” he mouthed, eyes dark and desperate, his face right up against the screen. Evan couldn't look away, frozen with terror. The spaceman pressed his hand to the screen. "I know you're there."

He lifted his fist and banged it down. The screen cracked.

Evan screamed.

He could hear him now. “Let me out!” he was saying as he hammered on the screen, his hand bleeding. Tears welled in his eyes and Evan watched as they floated upwards. “Help me. They’ve left me alone up here. They’ve left me to die. I’m going to _die_. Tell me you can hear me! Please!”

Evan ran. He pelted down the dark empty hall, through the empty kitchen and out of the back door into the garden. There was no moon, and though the stars were brilliant above him they lent him no comfort. The stars, Conrad had told him long ago, were dead things. They weren’t really there. Was that true of the spaceman too? Evan had been watching him for years. Was he real? Had Evan been watching an echo of him from long ago, like the light from a star? Had he _died_ in that capsule?

_Was Evan dead too? _

Maybe this was hell.

Panic overtook him, his heart beating so fast it hurt. No, no, that couldn’t be true. He was just being punished by father, not…not that.

Suddenly the outside world seemed more dangerous than anything inside the house. He slammed back indoors, using the servants’ back staircase to reach the bedrooms so that he wouldn’t have to walk past the library and see that television screen.

He’d light all the lamps in his bedroom. He’d play music or read, or write in his diary. Try to feel like part of the world again. And maybe tomorrow he’d see someone. Tomorrow it would be ok again.

The lights were already on in his bedroom. His bed was made and turned down, and his curtains were drawn. A fire crackled in the grate. He held a trembling hand out to the fire, steeling himself to plunge it in and prove to himself he was alive.

The front door banged.

Evan’s stomach lurched with excitement and fear. Without thinking he ran as hard as he could towards the source of the noise; the glorious, human noise of footsteps on the tiled floor of the entrance hall. He reached the top of the stairs and looked down, breathing hard.

It was the person he most wanted to see in the world.

“Peter!” he said, his voice hoarse with disuse.

His brother looked up. He was pale as ever, his captain’s beard neatly trimmed. He had taken off his coat and hung them on the hall stand, and the thick navy pullover he wore underneath was achingly familiar. Evan knew the smell and scratch of it intimately and he shivered at the memory. But his brother didn’t speak.

“Say something,” Evan said, desperate. “You’re real, aren’t you?”

“Evan,” Peter said and Evan felt weak with relief. He looked Evan over slowly and silently, his face sombre. “Look at the state of you. How long this time?”

“Six weeks,” Evan said, a relieved wobble in his voice. He started down the stairs towards Peter, wanting to throw himself into his brother’s arms. “Peter, there was a man, when I was watching…I think my mind has...oh please come up here and talk to me, I’m...”

Peter held up his hand. “Wait. Not yet,” he said to Evan.

With that he picked up his bag and disappeared down the hallway.

“No!” Evan yelled. He took the stairs two at a time and ran down the hall after him, heart thudding in his chest, but it was pointless. Peter had already disappeared. Evan stood in the empty hall, ears still ringing from the sound of Peter’s footsteps. Tears welled stupidly and pointlessly and he scrubbed them away. He wanted to scream after Peter and to beg him to come back. To tell him he couldn’t take it one minute, one second longer.

Instead he sat down on the padded seat of the hall stand, buried his face in Peter’s coat and cried.

The next three days were worse than the six weeks before them. He knew Peter was here, he knew he’d want to talk to Evan - so where was he? Had father forbidden it? Evan didn’t know how much more he could take.

He couldn’t eat or sleep. He wandered from room to room, helpless in his distraction. Periodically he would go to the entrance hall and check that Peter’s coat was still there. It was. So why was he _tormenting_ him? He even went back into the library. The television was off, the screen unharmed, but when he tried to turn it on again it didn’t work. He crouched down and looked carefully at it, seeing only his own reflection. He tried to unfocus his eyes. Was there someone there, looking back at him? “I’m sorry I ran,” he whispered. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

But the television remained silent, and after a while he gave up and went back to his pacing.

On the third day of this misery Evan head the door to the great hall slam. He ran, chasing the sound. Ripping open the heavy door he found Peter standing near the window, looking out.

He turned. “Now, Evan…” he began.

“Don’t disappear, _don’t_,” Evan said desperately. “Please just listen to me.”

Peter looked at him in silence.

“I’m...I’m going mad,” Evan said. “I’m not well. I’m seeing things. I need to get out of here Peter. I need you to talk to father.”

“I think you need to calm down,” Peter said.

“I can’t calm down!” Evan yelled. Tears sprang to his eyes. “He can’t keep me a prisoner here any longer. How would you feel if you had to be around people night and day for weeks. You’d _hate_ it!”

“And so should you!” Peter retorted and Evan’s heart sank. He tried again.

“I can’t live entirely alone forever. And you’ve all gone out in the world. Father used to, Conrad, you. You’re explorers and scientists,” he said. “And I _want_ to do it.”

Peter looked at him for a long time before answering. “The problem is, you’re not ready yet,” he said at last. “You know that. You’re not like the rest of us.”

Evan glared at him, eyes glazed with angry tears. He bit his lip to stop himself crying like a petulant kid.

“Oh, Evan,” Peter said, and crossed the room to him opening his arms. Evan’s breath caught with the anticipation of being touched. And when Peter wrapped his arms briefly around him he had never felt so safe.

Peter released him, but put his hands around Evan’s waist, just under his sweatshirt. Evan felt light-headed from the sensation.

“You crave people,” Peter said, looking into his eyes. “You want to be around them. You want to be touched. It’s not at all right.”

“Y-you…” Evan managed. “You touch me.” Peter’s hands were moving now, rough fingers on the warm skin of his back and it was so distracting Evan could hardly speak.

“But my dear boy, that’s different. You’re my brother,” Peter said dismissively, tightening his hands. “And you belong to me. You belong here, with us.”

“I’ve tried,” Evan whispered. “I promise I have. But I’m not like you. Sometimes…” he paused before admitting it. “...I’ve thought that I was already in hell. That this was some kind of endless afterlife. I might as well be dead, living like this.”

Peter frowned.

“We all want what’s best for you, Evan,” he said. “But we worry about the path you might take if you leave us.”

“If I stay here I’ll kill myself,” Evan said desperately.

Peter chuckled as though Evan was an amusing child. “Is this what the hunger strike is all about?”

“I haven’t…” Evan stopped, breathing hard, as Peter moved his hands further up under his clothes. His thumbs brushed Evan’s ribs, feeling how they stood out under his skin. “I lost my appetite, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Peter said, sliding his hands back down to Evan’s waist again. He sighed.

“The trouble is, you’re lovely. Sweet face, sweet nature. Clever. Utterly charming, really. You’ll attract people like flies. You can imagine how mother and father felt when it became plain that you had the inclinations you do. I’ve found the realisation hard enough, and I’m much more tolerant than they are. We are trying to help; we don’t mean to make you so unhappy. And it’s becoming clear that what we’ve been doing isn’t working either.”

Evan held still, watching Peter’s face. Freedom felt almost within his reach, but as fragile as a soap bubble. Peter’s light blue eyes looked back at him searchingly.

“We worry what will happen to you in that big wide world out there,” Peter said at last. “We're concerned you won’t keep yourself to yourself. You’ve never learned how, and when we try to teach you, you make yourself unwell. But we need to you to do that. It’s of the utmost importance, to the whole family and our future.”

Why should he care about the family and their future, he thought, deep anger coiling inside him. Why should he, when they treated him like a freak? When they tortured him, kept him smothered here in this house, only half alive? He would never be what they wanted and he was sick of trying. He wanted out, and if he had to use every charm he had to do it, he would.

“I can keep myself to myself,” he said, looking up through his lashes at Peter. “I just need to be near people. I don’t need to talk to them. _Please_ Peter. Let me go.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Peter said.

“I _promise_,” Evan said, widening his eyes and gazing up at him. Peter smiled and sighed again.

“I never have been able to refuse you, have I,” he said softly. “My sweet brother.”

Evan looked at him silently, scared to hope. Peter smiled slowly and brought a finger up beneath Evan’s chin, tilting his face up.

“So how are you going to thank me?” Peter said.

“For...for what?” Evan said.

“I believe I’m going to let you leave us - in body at least. As long as you remember where you belong and who you belong to,” Peter said. “You’re mine. Ours. Always. You’re very necessary to us. And when we tell you to return, we’ll expect you to do just that.”

Evan swallowed. If this was the freedom being offered, he’d take it. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re very welcome,” Peter said, gently pulling Evan closer. Evan froze, insides squirming as he felt the bulk of Peter’s body press against his own. He felt his cock begin to fill at the contact and his face burned. He wanted to pull away, but the warmth and touch of another body was so irresistible.

And in some ways he’d known for a long time that this was coming. He’d known by the way Peter had looked at him that first time he’d come back from sea, after Evan had had his first growth spurt. And then again a year later when he’d filled out a little in the shoulders and chest and wasn’t just all arms and legs.

And from the way Peter was looking at him now.

Evan didn’t want this, but he’d do it. He’d do anything if he could walk out through that door, and slam that gate behind him and just _breath_.

“Thank you,” he said again as sweetly as he could, tilting his head very slightly, his lips open in invitation.

Peter let out a small sigh of pleasure, his eyes dark as night. “Evan,” he said as he closed the gap between them and pressed his mouth to his.

Evan hadn’t ever been kissed on the mouth before and his starved senses reacted as if he’d been electrified. Peter’s mouth was soft and hard at once, his hand firm on the back of Evan’s head as he kissed him hard, beard scrubbing against his skin. It was so much; _too_ much, and all wrong.

“Wait...” he said, wrenching out of Peter’s grasp, his whole body shaking.

Peter looked at him. “What’s wrong?” he said.

_Everything_, Evan wanted to say, as he put his trembling hands over his face. _You’re my fucking brother. I don’t want you, I don’t want your mouth or your hands touching me like this._

But at the same time he did. He wanted it all. He already felt bereft at the loss of contact, his body crying out for Peter’s against him. And he wanted this ticket to freedom more than anything in the world.

“I can go,” Peter said, taking a step away. “Leave you to your thoughts.”

“No!” Evan said.

“I’m not going to pressure you to do anything you don’t want,” Peter said in that light way of his, as though everything he said was just so reasonable. “It’s your choice. Would you like some time to think about it?”

Evan shook his head. “Don’t go,” he begged. He forced himself to move towards Peter but stopped again.

“If you’re worried that the family might disapprove, you really shouldn’t,” Peter said. “I can assure you that they’d be more than delighted to see this happening at last. In fact, it might even go some way to making up for some of your other, less pleasing behaviour.” He closed the distance between them again and stroked his hand through Evan’s hair.

“But perhaps you’re not ready for this, any more than you’re ready for freedom,” he said.

“I am,” Evan said. “I want it, I do want it.” 

“If you say so,” Peter said, and dragged Evan’s head back by the hair to kiss him again.

Evan let him. He tried to kiss back but Peter didn’t seem to care if he did or not. He held Evan tightly against him, biting and sucking at his mouth, and despite everything, Evan started to get hard again.

“What’s this?” Peter said, squeezing his hand down on Evan’s erection.

“Sorry,” Evan said. “It’s just...I’m…”

Peter ignored him and instead began to rub Evan’s cock through his jeans with hard, rough strokes. Evan could hardly bear how good it felt. 

“Peter _stop_, I’ll…”

“Yes, I think you probably will,” Peter said with amusement, trapping Evan against the dining table and continuing. Not able to get away, Evan whimpered and squirmed and came in seconds, gasping against his brother’s mouth.

“There now. You needed that, didn’t you?” Peter said, in that soft way which made Evan’s skin crawl. He stroked Evan’s hair out of his eyes and rubbing a thumb over his bruised lower lip. “But let’s take you upstairs for the rest. We are a little…_overlooked_ here.”

Evan looked up at the portraits of their ancestors lining the walls and wondered a little hysterically how many of them had fucked here in this hall.

“Come on Evan,” Peter said, kissing him gently and pulling him to his feet. Evan let him pull him along, helpless to know what else to do.

Peter took him to his own bedroom, locking the door behind them.

“Stay still,” he said, and knelt. First he removed Evan’s shoes, then moved his hands up to take off his jeans, his gaze never leaving Evan’s face. For all Evan’s loneliness, this intensity of presence was repulsive. From nothing at all to _this._

Peter peeled down Evan’s underwear, sticky with come. Finally he stood and pulled the baggy sweatshirt off over Evan’s head leaving him utterly exposed.

“What about you?” Evan said, shivering a little.

“Kind of you to think of me,” Peter said, eyes raking Evan from head to toe. Evan couldn’t think what he was looking at with such pleasure - he was just a skinny kid. No muscle or chest hair and he wasn’t even hard. But Peter’s eyes were devouring him. He walked around him, looking at him from every angle. Evan’s face flamed with humiliation.

“You really are charming, aren’t you? No need to blush,” Peter said, stopping to fondle Evan’s limp cock and cup his balls. Evan balled his hands into fists to stop himself from shoving Peter away. Peter stopped touching him between the legs and began running his hands upwards, all over him. He flicked his thumbs over Evan’s nipples, smiling slightly when they hardened. He ran his hands down his back and over his arse, sliding a finger between his cheeks and pressing on but not pushing inside his hole. Evan willed himself to endure it.

Finished with his inspection, Peter put a rough hand around Evan’s throat, brushing the hollow of it with his thumb. “I thought about you taking my cock in here,” he said thoughtfully. “All the way down. But I don’t think you’d manage. Not today at least.”

Evan swallowed, feeling the movement of his throat constricted by Peter’s grip. His cock began to perk back up.

“No, not today,” Peter said. “I think we’ll just stick to the traditional Lukas deflowering, shall we?”

“T-the what?” Evan said.

“We really don’t talk about things in this family do we? Considering how close we all are,” Peter said, sounding amused. “But this is probably best shown rather than told.”

He shifted his grip from Evan’s throat to the back of his neck and forced him down over to the dressing table. Evan caught sight of his own flushed face and half-hard cock in the mirror before he closed his eyes in shame.

“Conrad and I took care of things for each other, naturally,” Peter carried on, positioning Evan’s hands on the table. “But you were so much younger, and with your predilection for wanting companionship…well, we worried you’d get too attached. What with one thing and another, we have left it a little late with you. No matter.” Peter kicked Evan’s legs apart and yanked open a drawer on the dressing table. Evan heard a lid being unscrewed and then jumped as Peter began to smear something over his hole. It was cold and greasy and Evan wanted to wrench out of his grasp, but he held as still as he could. _It would be over soon._

“You must know the importance of the family by now, Evan,” Peter said. “And however attached any one of us might become to someone outwith our clan…” he forced a thick finger inside Evan and Evan moaned in shock. “We always want your first time to be with someone dear to you. That you’ll hopefully always think about, whoever else you’re with. Ah, _there_ we are. Well done.”

Evan gasped as Peter forced another finger inside him. Peter began to stroke them in and out, stretching him and pushing down on a spot inside him that was making him shake with sensation.

“That’s what I was looking for,” Peter said with satisfaction in his voice. “Now, hold fast.”

How could this be a family tradition? No one had ever, ever talked of anything like this. And yet everyone had known but him. Perhaps another of his family was here now and watching invisibly as Evan’s brother pushed his fingers roughly into him. Evan found himself so unexpectedly aroused by this thought that he moaned louder and Peter gave a low laugh and pressed in deeper. Evan whined helplessly and arched back, the place Peter was touching inside him sending him half wild.

“One more,” Peter said and pushed his thumb in too.

Evan had what felt like another orgasm then, his limp cock jerking and leaking onto the table. It came in waves, washing through his entire body as Peter continued to fuck him with firm, measured little movements of his fingers, his other hand gripping Evan’s waist so tightly he knew it would leave marks. Just as he’d reached the edge of another climax, Peter abruptly pulled his fingers away.

Evan glanced up and watched as Peter opened his flies and pulled out his cock. It was thick and hard and Evan could see him holding it in one hand, measuring it against Evan’s hole, his eyebrow quirked with amusement. Evan panted with frightened anticipation. _He would never be able to take it_. He imagined for a moment trying to swallow it down as Peter had suggested and bit his lip as he pictured himself choking on it. _Not today_, Peter had said.

He closed his eyes again, holding onto the dressing table for dear life.

“Just relax,” said Peter, stroking his back, and then pushing the head of his cock inside him.

“No…” Evan said, struggling. “It _hurts_…”

“Shhh,” Peter said gently, gripping Evan’s hips hard enough to bruise. “Keep still. It won’t hurt in a minute.” Evan could feel the roughness of Peter’s pullover against him, and the warmth of his thighs through his jeans pressed against the backs of Evan’s own. He tried desperately not to move but the discomfort had only just started to ease when Peter began fucking him in earnest. And oh god, he felt so big.

Peter was silent now, the only sound in the room the slap slap of skin on skin and Evan’s small sobbing gasps. It seemed to go on forever. And it wasn’t just the relentless thrust of Peter into his hole, but the way Peter kept touching him, reaching around to squeeze his cock or tug his balls, or touch Evan’s hardened nipples.

When Peter pushed two of his fingers into Evan’s mouth all he could do was suck on them hard and try not to gag. But Peter pushed them in further and Evan choked, feeling his body squeeze down on Peter’s cock as he did. Peter grunted and then rammed his full length inside him, his orgasm as silent as his fucking had been.

Evan felt him pull out and he collapsed forward against his forearms, his body aching all over. It must be over now, surely.

But Peter was turning him around.

“Let’s get you hard again,” he said.

“No,” Evan said, shaking his head before he could stop himself.

“It’ll be a little difficult for you to fuck me if you don’t,” Peter said, a tease in his voice.

Evan felt sick. _No_. How could he?

“I’m deflowering you, Evan,” Peter said, grinning. “And I do like to do things thoroughly. Now how do you like things best; something in your hole while I stroke you? Or another way.”

“I don’t know,” Evan said.

“How about you stroke yourself, then?” Peter suggested. He’d begun to undress, pulling his top layers off over his head to reveal a deep chest furred with red hair. Evan could barely look at him. He took hold of himself and tried to get hard.

His brother, naked now, sat back against the pillows on his bed to watch. He bent one leg up and idly began to finger himself. _Preparing himself for Evan._ Evan’s cock twitched in his hand at the thought, though his mind told him he was horrified. He closed his eyes and tried to think of his usual fantasies. The spaceman...no. Too horrible now. The girl who used to serve him breakfast, then.

“Uh uh,” Peter said. Evan opened his eyes. Peter patted the bed. “No drifting away. Come up here.”

Evan knelt between Peter’s spread thighs. God, he had hair _everywhere, _and thick muscle across his chest and arms. His cock jerked up hard against his stomach at the sight, and Peter looked at him in amusement. Then he reached up and pulled Evan down against him.

His hands were all over Evan, his tongue in his mouth and his semi-hard cock pressing against Evan’s stomach, wet and sticky. Evan wanted to twist away from all this in disgust, but his cock was aching with arousal at the feel of Peter’s rough hands and the scrape of his chest hair against Evan’s skin.

“Inside me now, Evan,” Peter said softly. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

“Do I...just…” Evan said. He looked at Peter helplessly. Peter shifted, taking hold of Evan’s cock to guide him, and then it was happening and he was pushing into Peter, pushing into his _brother_, and Peter was groaning with pleasure and Evan wanted to make him make that noise again because it was turning him on so much he felt dizzy.

“_Peter_,” he gasped, because oh god he was so tight and hot, and it couldn’t be right that it felt like this, or that Peter looked so good underneath him. There’s something wrong with you, he told himself, but it didn’t stop him from sliding his cock out of Peter and pushing back in again, moaning at how incredible it felt.

“Harder,” Peter said.

Evan obeyed. Peter dragged him down for kiss after kiss as Evan fucked him, murmuring terrible, arousing things as he did.

“That’s it darling,” he said and Evan shuddered at the unexpected endearment. “Faster. You won’t break me. Don’t close your eyes when you kiss me, look at me.”

Evan did, seeing his brother’s blue eyes darken with lust.

“Kiss me slowly,” Peter said, stroking Evan’s sides gently until Evan could have screamed at the unwanted tenderness. “That’s it. Now - slow and deep with the fucking too. Good. Get your mouth on my nipple - _Oh,_ good boy.”

The pace, the way Peter touched him, the way they were kissing was all so intimate and so awful. He’d wanted to fuck Peter hard, barely looking at him and get the thing over with. But Peter wasn’t letting him.

“Slow down if you’re close,” Peter said. “You’ve got to make this old man come again first.” He took Evan’s hand and wrapped his fingers around his cock. “Come on then.”

Evan moved his hand as fast as Peter would let him, and Peter gave a low groan and dragged him down for more panting, open mouthed kisses. Evan rocked his hips in short movements, too close himself to risk more than that, and worked Peter’s cock.

“That’s good,” Peter was saying. “_Yes._ Move your hand faster.”

Evan tried. It was working; Peter’s hips were moving erratically, his hands gripping Evan’s sides. He was going to come in Evan’s fist any second. In a wave of arousal he began to fuck his brother harder again.

Peter arched up and climaxed, mouth open and thighs shaking, come spilling over Evan’s fingers. He looked so good that Evan couldn’t watch any more. He dropped his head down against Peter’s shoulder and fucked him as hard as he could - he just had to come, and this would all stop. 

“Are you close?” Peter said. “You are, I can feel you.”

“Yes,” Evan managed.

“You’re doing so well,” Peter said. “So well. You always were such a good little boy.” And the praise was so stupid and so _wrong_ that the twisted humiliation finished him. Evan thrust in deep, and came with a cry, Peter holding him bruisingly tight.

“There,” Peter said, his voice kind. “Well done. All over now.”

Evan pulled out and rolled onto his back panting. He threw an arm across his eyes. They lay there in silence.

“I expect you’d like some time alone now wouldn’t you,” Peter said. Evan could feel him looking at him. Evan shook his head.

“No,” he said. And however much he wanted to get away from Peter, it was the truth. He couldn’t go back to that agonising silence and isolation.

“_Evan_,” Peter said, amusement and warning in his voice. “Remember what we discussed.”

A test. Evan nodded, ignoring his rising panic at the thought. “Yes. Okay. I’d like some alone time.”

“And tomorrow we’ll talk more about you getting out,” Peter said. “A little college course or something. And afterwards you can try sucking cock, if you like.”

“Alright,” Evan said, swallowing at the thought. He wondered how many days of this he’d have to get through. Being fucked and pawed at. Used. _As many as it took_ he told himself. He sat up without looking at Peter and reached down for his clothes.

“You did a good job,” said Peter. “I’ll have to tell Conrad how well you did. Next time he's home you can show him. Or both of us! Even better."

The thought of being fucked by both his brother and his cousin was so terrible and arousing that Evan couldn't respond.

"Go on then - off you go,” Peter said. 

Evan gathered his clothes in a bundle and left the room.

Reaching his own room he lay on the bed, exhausted. The door to his bathroom was ajar and he could see there was a bath waiting for him. The whole house must know what had just happened.

It will all be worth it, he told himself. You’re going to get out. You’re going to be free. And if it meant being Peter and Conrad's plaything for a while then he could take it. Because it would earn him a life. Let them think he put the family above everything, and let them think he'd be at their beck and call forever. But Evan knew that as soon as the gates of Moorland House closed behind him, he was never, ever coming home again.


End file.
